


now is exactly the time

by oflights



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Gags/Silence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:32:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oflights/pseuds/oflights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sidney likes to give his voice up to Geno and Geno likes having it for himself. (Porny coda to between your heart and mine)</p>
            </blockquote>





	now is exactly the time

**Author's Note:**

> Hee, I FINALLY posted something for my bingo card! Yay! Kink! My kink bingo notes are full of ideas for these two, psh, who said Sid/Geno can't get kinky? 
> 
> This is a years-later flashforward in that verse where Sid and Geno are rookies that bone; it takes place in the 2013 half season, right in the beginning. My continued apologies to Eric Tangradi for playing up his unfortunate tenure on Geno's left wing for laughs again.
> 
> Beta'd by Bridget, who is kind enough to look over my crap even though I no longer live in the same country as her, and the title is taken from yet another Noah and the Whale song.

In Winnipeg, Geno leans in close at dinner and says, “We get lucky. My room is last on the floor.”

Sidney makes a face, forks pasta into his mouth and pretends to concentrate on chewing for a while, but he looks interested. He can’t fake his disapproving tone well enough when he says, “Geno, we talked about it.”

“Yes,” Geno says, taking his hand off his sweating glass of water to poke Sidney on the back of his hand with a wet finger. Sidney jumps and scowls. 

Across the table, Nealer snickers, drawing Sidney’s glare and grumbles that sound like, “This is why I never sit with you.” Geno glares at Nealer, too, not seriously but enough that Nealer rolls his eyes and goes back to talking to Brooksie, letting Geno harass Sidney in peace.

“We talk. You say _maybe_ which I think means _yes Geno, is good idea_ —”

“That’s not what that means!”

“Always what that means,” Geno says. He’s not trying to sound smug, but he’s pretty sure he fails at that. Sidney elbows him in the ribs, and Geno wouldn’t have to have years’ experience reading Sidney’s signals to get that one.

“When I say maybe now,” Sidney says carefully, like he’s navigating verbal landmines. “I really mean maybe. We have a game tomorrow. You only have one room on one side but it’s still one room with a person in it.”

“Just Tangradi,” Geno says, rolling his eyes. He’s ready for Sidney’s elbow, though, dodging it quickly and knocking into the empty chair beside him. “He doesn’t count. _Ow_ , Sid!”

Sidney loads his fork with pasta again innocently, like he hadn’t just speared the back of Geno’s hand with it. It’s Brooksie’s turn to react to them now, staring at them flatly, Sidney in particular until he shrugs and says, “What?” with his mouth full.

“Really,” Brooksie says. Nealer cracks up. His mouth is full too and it’s disgusting; Geno tries to mimic Brooksie’s flat, disapproving look, but he’s not sure he has the eyes for it, and rubbing the back of his hand, wounded, probably doesn’t help.

“I love sitting at the captains’ table,” Nealer says gleefully. Sidney just goes on eating and Geno waits until Nealer and Brooksie lose interest again to lean in once more, careful and slow.

“I bring help.”

Sidney goes scarlet, and his fork actually stills. When it starts moving again, it’s shaking, and Geno makes sure their shoulders are touching.

“Don’t be a dick to Tangradi,” Sidney says eventually, his voice very, very even. “And maybe.”

“That means yes,” Geno says happily. He doesn’t bother defending himself on the Tangradi front.

“That means _maybe._ It’ll mean no if you keep being a jerk to the rookies.”

“Tango is barely still rookie.” He says it loudly, so Nealer will weigh in and back him up. “Doesn’t count, like I say.”

“The Big Dog can take it, dude,” Nealer says, and he winks at Sidney, like he thinks Geno can’t see him. Sidney huffs and spends the rest of the meal lecturing them both on what Tangradi can bring to their line, while Brooksie nods solemnly along. Brooksie only likes Tangradi because he’s usually the first forward back to help out the d-men, and that’s only because he never made it into the zone with Nealer and Geno in the first place. He really doesn’t count, either.

After dinner, people start separating. Nobody truly separates, though; not sharing rooms anymore just means that people cluster into a few rooms at a time instead of sticking with their usual road roommates. Geno kind of misses the peaceful setup he’s had with Brooksie for a while, but Nealer wants to have a drink at the hotel bar with Paulie and Sidney wants to hang out in Tanger’s room, so Geno leans in close to Sidney one more time before they head off.

“Come to my room later,” he says. He watches Sidney blush again with some fascination. It’s been years, and Sidney is far removed from the boy Geno had pushed up against the shower wall, grown up to be a little gentler, but still so easy to embarrass. 

They’ve gotten gentler with each other, maybe, careful and more experienced with how they work together. It’s been years, maybe not complete years, but years spread out between them, and Geno just knows too much about Sidney now to not take care with him. He loves him in a way that’s achy and full and rooted deep inside him, affection caked around his heart that can never be scrubbed away. 

He knows what they like, knows what Sidney likes and knows what Sidney can’t resist, so he knows that when Sidney says, “Maybe,” he means “Yes, I’ll come.” All Geno has to do is wait, and he doesn’t mind; one way or another, they have each waited for each other loads of times, to catch up or slow down as they’ve grown up together. 

 

It’s not that this is the first time they’ve had sex on a road trip, though. Sidney has had stretches of enjoying his own room that were always too enticing to turn down, and it’s not like Brooksie or Flower or Duper ever minded being kicked out of their room, or didn’t know what they were getting kicked out for. Their relationship is a part of the team in a way that it rarely gets talked about; it just is, for better or worse, and new players can go months without realizing anything’s going on. Sidney and Geno are Penguin constants and nobody ever questions that.

It’s just that the last time Sidney and Geno had sex on a road trip was the night before the Flyers eliminated them in the 2012 playoffs. They had a rule—Geno’s house was fair game during the playoffs and so was whatever place Sidney was pretending to live in, but they weren’t supposed to do anything on the road during the playoffs. They’d never done anything on the road during the playoffs, except for that night. 

“Don’t,” Geno had said when they got to the hotel, just to remind Sidney, but he wasn’t very surprised when Brooksie got called away to look at some tape in Sidney’s room, took his bag, and never came back. Sidney came in, vibrating with tension and need and something Geno just couldn’t ignore, and he hadn’t left.

On the plane home, dreading getaway day and hating each other and everyone else a little bit, Tanger and Engo were arguing about a play, Paulie ostensibly following along but really folding himself miserably into his window seat. Geno wanted them to shut up, wanted everybody to shut up, not just for Paulie but for his own peace of mind, and then Engo said, “Well, maybe if Frick and Frack hadn’t kept me up all night knocking the headboard against the wall, I could’ve gotten back faster.”

It turned into a whole thing. Tanger nearly punched Engo, Brooksie had to leap in and play peacemaker, Sidney nearly concussed himself again scrambling out of his seat, either outraged or devastated or both, Geno still isn’t sure. 

Geno got nasty and crabby and Paulie said something soft like, “I didn’t hear them,” and Engo shot back, “Lucky you, well-rested in the press box,” and then everyone had to jump on Nealer to keep an actual fight from breaking out. It was as awful as it was quickly fixed back in Pittsburgh, when it was easier to look at each other and remember that they’re friends and kind of brothers and the offseason is long, long, this one possibly stretching longer. 

There are no grudges in Sidney’s locker room. People who had spent years calling him Cindy are gently and firmly told that that’s not going to fly by various members of the team, but Sidney himself refuses to allow bad blood among teammates. Geno gets that, and agrees with it, because the team is more important than anything. 

But Geno also knows that Sidney had been badly rattled by what happened, and probably still obsesses over it. He knows this because he feels the same way sometimes, no matter how many times Nealer checks himself from saying fag on the ice, or how fervently Engo had insisted, “I really was just being a dick, you know I don’t care.” The team is more important than anything, but in Geno’s head, he and Sidney are the team, and that could be a problem. It could always be dangerous. Part of Geno is still a teenager terrified of anyone knowing about him, even if they are ostensibly okay with it.

He wants this to be a thing that’s okay again, and he thinks Sidney wants that, too. He wants to make it okay. 

Geno switches to water with Nealer and Paulie without them noticing, and they all talk about how they like their steaks cooked for much longer than Geno has ever talked about meat before, louder than the topic probably needs. They are left alone and Nealer still has enough leftover offseason training guilt to put himself and them to bed at a decent hour, so it’s really not long at all before they’re heading to their separate rooms. 

And it’s not long after Geno’s gotten into his room, changed and turned down the bed and relaxed against his pillows, before Sidney knocks on his door. He looks nervous, which Geno both hates and really can’t blame him for, because he’s a little nervous, too. 

Sidney’s in pajama pants and a soft sweatshirt and he looks warm; he goes into Geno’s arms as easy as anything and Geno runs his hands all over him, calming them both a little. “It’s just—” Sidney starts, and Geno sighs but moves them both to sit on the bed. He stretches out on his side and Sidney stays sitting up, cross-legged and back hunched a little, but in good position for Geno to rub it. 

“Eric’s not happy,” Sidney continues eventually, and it takes Geno a few seconds to remember who Eric is. Sidney knows this and so he smacks Geno lightly on the hip. “Tangradi, asshole. He’s not doing well.”

“Yes,” Geno says. “Thanks for tell, I didn’t notice.”

“Shut up. You know what that means. He might be, uh, moving on, right?”

“Not gonna hear,” Geno says slowly, because Tangradi going anywhere that’s not Geno’s left wing is a good thing and he won’t hear any arguments otherwise at this point. “Sid, is thick hotel walls and he goes to sleep quick and he always have big headphones. And he _knows._ ”

“It’s weird that I’m the one worried about this, right?” Sidney says, frowning so deeply that Geno can tell just from the side of his face. “You used to be the paranoid one.”

Geno winces. He and Sidney have broken up three times: once was the first one, the stupid one, and Sidney doesn’t like to count that one because they were just dumb kids, but Geno counts it because it was his fault. Second was when Oksana wanted Geno back, and the offseason was long, long and Sidney understood and also didn’t. 

The third was the last time, when they should’ve been old enough to know better but didn’t. They’d just gotten Halak’d as a team and they hated each other a little, like always, and Sidney backed out of going to Russia at the last minute.

It was ugly and painful and ended precisely the moment when the doctors said, “Out indefinitely.” Russia came to them in the end and they healed together and Geno knows, he really does, that this is it. There won’t be a fourth time. Not for paranoia, not for other people, not for team drama or playoff disasters or Eric fucking Tangradi overhearing them having sex. 

“Not a kid anymore,” Geno says. He doesn’t lie and say he’s not scared anymore.

Sidney goes quiet, and under his hand, Geno feels the muscles in his back start to relax slowly. He reclines backwards, pillowing his head on Geno’s outstretched arm and curling in with a hand clutched in Geno’s t-shirt. Geno closes his eyes and kisses back when Sidney kisses him, points of warmth all along his front, his mouth and tongue familiar territory Geno can and will spend years mapping out.

It’s possible, though not probable, that this is all they will do. This has always been enough for Geno. He can still remember the way the shower water tasted on Sidney’s lips that first time, can fondly look back on hours spent in the guesthouse, just kissing until it hurt. He was an idiot back then but he still knew he loved kissing Sidney, more than he’s ever loved kissing anybody, before he even knew he loved Sidney himself.

Sidney gets impatient with kissing sometimes, though. Early morning is when Geno can get the most slowed-down Sid, when he is not quite awake and his mouth is soft and slack and easy for Geno. 

Now, though, it’s a while but not a long while before Sidney’s leg inches over to eventually sling over Geno’s hip, sliding them closer together and slotted like puzzle pieces. Geno smiles and kisses Sidney’s chin, bending his arm at the elbow to cradle Sidney’s head. 

“Hey,” Sidney says, smiling a little, too. His voice is low and Geno feels like they’re in a world that’s completely their own right now. He doesn’t know how many people are in this hotel, but not one of them matters even a little bit at this point.

“Hey, Sid,” Geno says. Sidney sighs a little, kisses his cheek, and keeps his nose tucked into Geno’s neck for another moment. 

Geno can feel Sidney’s face heating up slightly against his skin, so it’s not entirely a surprise when Sidney says, “You said you brought help.”

“Yes,” Geno says. He tries not to sound too eager, too excited, but he is eager and excited. When he pulls back so Sidney will stop hiding his face, Sidney’s cheeks are bright but so are his eyes. He’s excited, too.

“It can’t help that much,” Sidney says as Geno slowly, carefully untangles to grab for his suitcase and sift through it. “I mean, it might make it worse. He could still hear us.”

“Don’t care,” Geno says absentmindedly, which is a guilty half-truth.

“It’s just that I’ve gotten used to you—you know,” Sidney continues, like Geno hadn’t said anything. “In our house, I can be as loud as I want.”

“Yes. Have very kind neighbor.” He grabs Sidney’s foot when he tries to kick him, digging his thumb into his socked arch and rubbing until he stops thrashing. Sidney’s legs spread a little and Geno squeezes his whole foot once before he lets it go and holds up the ball gag he’d pulled from the suitcase. Sidney’s legs spread more.

“I can—I can try,” Sidney says. Geno is glad that it sounds kind of weak, not at all as enthusiastic or determined as Sidney can get. “Maybe I can blow you, and then maybe I won’t need the help—”

“Sid,” Geno says gently, climbing fully onto the bed again and crawling over Sidney’s body. He fits a knee between Sidney’s spread legs and fits his hand over Sidney’s mouth, something hot and familiar flaring in his gut. “Shut up.”

Sidney’s eyes flutter shut and his hips jerk a bit. Geno moves his knee against Sidney’s dick, because it’s there and because it’s getting hard and because he can, and then he takes his hand away and holds up the gag. He watches Sidney’s eyes open and rove over it carefully, almost searchingly; this will be the first time either of them have looked at it outside of their bedroom. 

“You want,” Geno says. It could be a question or a statement or both, but Sidney just nods, licking his lips a little. That makes Geno shudder and jerk his own hips. 

He understands virtually every word that comes out of Sidney’s mouth now. It’s not like when they were younger, when Sidney’s talking would be an endless stream that could be anything, that made him feel dumb and slow and lost, or something that could get them caught. It’s different now. Sidney likes to give his voice up to Geno and Geno likes having it for himself. 

Geno kisses Sidney hard on the mouth before he starts taking his clothes off, sliding his pants off his hips and yanking his socks with them, the sweatshirt going over Sidney’s head and mussing up his hair so much that Geno takes a minute to bury his face in it. Sidney’s arms go around him and keep him there for a minute, clinging but just barely, and Geno kisses him again, gentler, before he picks up the gag again. 

In another minute, Sidney is spread out on the bed, naked but for the black ball gag strapped between his lips, making them look redder than Geno’s mouth could ever make them on his own. His nostrils are flared slightly as he adjusts his breaths, and there is pink all down his chest, his dick hard and curved up towards his belly button. 

He’s fucking beautiful, and Geno tells him so in Russian, the words repeated enough that Sidney understands them now, leans into them with his eyes closed as Geno kisses all over his face, kisses where his lips are stretched and the straps are tight.

The first muffled sounds come when Geno chases Sidney’s flush down his chest with his mouth. It’s a soft, weak little groan that shoots straight to Geno’s dick as he tongues over one of Sidney’s hardening nipples. 

He wants to rut against the bed or against Sidney’s thigh when Sidney starts grabbing at his clothes, just gripping at first and then pulling insistently, telling Geno exactly what he wants with his hands. Geno lets him keep pulling until he hears another noise, a little louder and more whimpery, and then he scrambles out of his clothes like a fireman, folding himself naked over Sidney and fitting them together skin to skin.

Sidney’s next noise is happier, and Geno closes his eyes and feels it vibrating against him. 

He resumes his journey down Sidney’s body eventually, making a short stop to dip his tongue in and around his navel, to rub his cheek over his lower abdomen. Sidney’s hips roll and his head pushes down against the bed and there is already spit slicked down his cheek, the ball sinking back a little as he sucks in. 

Geno breathes over Sidney’s dick and Sidney lifts his hips into it. He hated blowing Sidney when they were kids; his jaw always hurt and Sidney’s dick seemed so much bigger in his mouth than in his ass, and he always felt like he didn’t know what he was doing and couldn’t figure it out. He eventually figured out that it was true, he didn’t know what he was doing, and that was completely fine with Sidney, who liked whatever Geno did to his dick and was basically crazy for it. Blowing Sidney got better after that.

He still prefers fingering Sidney to blowing him, and fucking him more than anything, but he’s happy to get his mouth around Sidney’s dick right now, to slide one finger in alongside and wet it just enough so he can slip the tip into Sidney’s hole.

Low and breathless moans come out muffled and thick through the gag, and they crack when Geno edges his finger in a little more and sucks sloppily at the tip of Sidney’s dick. He bobs his head only shallowly, licks so faintly that Sidney’s legs are growing restless, hiking up to bump his feet at Geno’s hips. 

There is lube visible on top of the suitcase out of the corner of his eye, and when Geno pulls away to pick it up, Sidney makes a choked, garbled plea. Geno grabs his own cock, swallowing hard and answering Sidney with nonsense in Russian. He strokes himself a few times because he _has_ to, his arousal like a sun-warmed blanket over his gut, and Sidney sits up and starts reaching for him.

“Shh,” Geno says. He leaves the lube on the bed to swipe his thumb over each side of Sidney’s face, over his slick chin, and he slides his hand around to the back of Sidney’s neck and uses his grip there to ease Sidney back against the pillows. “I’m coming back.”

Sidney doesn’t say anything or try to, but his eyes are wide and needy and speak volumes. Geno wants to kiss him on the mouth and settles for kissing his cock, stretching out on his belly and nudging Sidney’s legs over his back, a heavy, comforting drape as he settles in with the lube.

It’s not his best angle for fingering but Sidney already looks boneless like this, squirmy unless Geno’s touching him behind his balls with slick fingers or sucking on him slowly. He tenses up twice, once when Geno finds his prostate and again when he loses it on purpose, angling himself like he guide Geno’s fingers inside him.

Geno teases for a while because Sidney’s still trying not to be loud. He’s desperate enough soon, though, for broken shards of moans to slip through. He gets louder the more Geno takes him to the edge and then leaves him there, his mouth pulled off to murmur to him in Russian, his fingers idly playing with Sidney’s rim or just stilled inside, holding him open.

His wrist is killing him by the time he’s taken to just massaging Sidney’s prostate, making him thrash more than squirm. His moans are muffled shouts that seem partially attached to sobs and Geno sucks one after the other out of him with his mouth until every bit of Sidney goes tense. His legs squeeze Geno when he comes, and Geno swallows gamely and gives in to rut against the bed, feeling just as needy as Sidney sounds.

He waits for Sidney to squirm again before he pulls his mouth off, his fingers out, and then crawls up the bed again. Sidney says, “Mm,” through the gag when Geno slides his dick up against his ass and thrusts, and he reaches back to palm at Geno’s ass and _pushes_ , trying to grind Geno into him until he comes with a short, low grunt.

Neither of them move for a long, long while, cooling off against each other, Geno’s cock softening between Sidney’s lax thighs. He reaches back to take Sidney’s hand, kind of flopped across his ass, and he squeezes it just once. Sidney squeezes back, and he sighs, and Geno moves, then.

The first thing Geno does after he pulls the gag out of Sidney’s mouth is kiss him.

 

At breakfast, Tangradi is grumpy and complaining loud enough about his lack of sleep that it carries over to where Geno is blearily eating eggs with Craig and Glass. He stops eating and looks over at Sidney, who has stopped talking to Tanger what looks like midsentence and is pointedly _not_ looking at Geno.

“You could’ve at least shared the bed, it was a double bed,” Tangradi is saying, and it’s not until Bort snickers into his oatmeal and shakes his head that Geno gets it.

“Nah, man. You’re lucky I let you sleep on my floor, I could’ve left you to rot in the lobby.”

“We have to find out who did this,” Tangradi says, and Bortuzzo, Jeffrey and Despres all roll their eyes practically in unison.

Geno would like to know, too, and he’s happy when he finds out because Engo has dropped what is undoubtedly a hotel room key that undoubtedly opens Tangradi’s room into Sidney’s oatmeal, ruffling his hair as he passes by to hit the buffet again and winking at Geno as he goes. 

“See?” Geno tells Sidney as he bundles up for his crazy Winnipeg winter excursion to the arena. “We get lucky.”


End file.
